


Pride

by hongmunmu



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then it was out of his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride

The demon purred, rolling its many-eyed gaze to Fenris. “You think this _slave_ would choose you over his freedom?”

Fenris’ face hardened, and he took a small step forward into an athletic stance, knees bent slightly. “Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon. I won my freedom from the magisters long ago.”

“But you fear them still. They left their marks on your _body_ and your _mind._ With my aid, you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge _any_ who would chain you.”

Marian turned on him, scowling.

“Turn on me, Fenris, and you’ll regret it.”

Fenris chewed his lip, avoiding Hawke’s gaze as he always did. “But- to face them as an equal, I…” He paused, gaze flickering to his feet. Looking through Justice’s eyes, Anders had never seen him look so unsure before. “What would you… want from me?”

The demon smiled, its lips peeling back to reveal spit-covered tombstone-like teeth. Anders wondered what Fenris was seeing that he could fall for such an offer.

-

Fenris felt like the demon was pulling him, like he was losing his grip on the ground; everything was slipping, pulling in a centripetal force towards the demon like a black hole. It was the sensation of falling but in slow-motion, like he didn’t have time to think, like he was intoxicated. He wished that someone would pour cold water on him or slap him, anything, anything for a change of force and direction; but this was the Fade. Nothing came. He felt too warm, and then he was speaking without even realising.

And then it was out of his hands.

It felt as though a gale of cold wind had blown and shrunk him back into the deepest recesses of his body, and kept him there while something else filled and took over what space was left. He knew there was no chance of fighting it – even forming thoughts was difficult. He was in the air; he hadn’t even realised he had drawn his blade. It swung down, and he felt two blades in his gut before the flat of the sword made contact with Marian’s head and knocked her clean unconscious. He kicked her to the side with a surprising strength he didn’t know he had, and turned on Aveline, who was in a defensive stance. Fool. No – no, that wasn’t what he thought of her – the sword came down again and again like hail on her shield and she deflected it each time. Yes – good – _no._ The voice boomed louder in his head, screaming over his thoughts and muffling them, and a pulse of lyrium from his markings sent Aveline retching to the floor.

One left. A spirit that Pride didn’t recognise was in the corner, battling the other body of the demon. Of the self. Fenris had fallen back, browbeaten, a slave like he had always been, his hands in the use of another. It blazed blue, and gave off more light than was bearable, a halo, a star around its head. A mage. An anathema to whatever he was now, dark, demons, temptation over duty. No. No, this is where we belong. Fenris was confused, and enlightened, and Justice blasted him in waves of mind-numbing energy. He felt nothing when the finishing bolt of lightning came.

The tiled floor of the Gallows came up to meet him, and as it made contact with his face it cracked and melted away into dust. He blinked and the world was jarringly bright and defined, and Varric was looking at him. “You doing alright, elf?”

Hazily, Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again before looking around, bewildered. He turned to look at the sleeping bodies of Anders, Aveline and Hawke, and it took him a minute to register what was going on. “Venhedis.”

“This is definitely going in my book,” Varric chuckled, jotting something down on a small notepad. “The look on your face – ”

“It’s not funny!” Fenris snapped. “Kaffas. I…” He experimentally clenched a fist. He felt shaken, unnerved; at least, that was the message the sheen of sweat and slight shake to his fingers was giving him. Varric looked at him quizzically.

“Bad Fade shit?”

Fenris bit his lip, glancing at the dwarf before returning his gaze to his fingers, cold from the time he’d been lying on the ground. “You could say that.”

Varric patted the seat next to him. “C’mere and tell Papa Dwarf about it. Or don’t, if that’s more your style.”

Fenris took the offer of the seat, preferable to the dirt floor, but stayed silent for a few minutes. A pride demon was what had taken control of him, what he’d succumbed to. He didn’t want to tell Varric he’d been possessed, or anyone else for that matter – but surely this was Pride, too? Fenris was of no mind to endure a demon’s control again. Perhaps he was what needed to change.

“I… succumbed to the temptations of a demon.”

Varric let out a choked sound somewhere between a snort and a cough. “Shit, Fenris, if I had a drink right now I’d spit it out. You? A demon?”

“Is it so surprising?” Fenris said bluntly. “There is no shortage of things to tempt me with.”

Varric chortled. “What was it? Virgins? An unlimited supply of free drinks?”

Fenris sucked the inside of his cheek and looked at his toes. Varric waved his hand noncommittally. “Ah, shit, kid, you don’t wanna tell me, you don’t wanna tell me. No big deal.” The dwarf patted his semi-gloved hand a little gingerly, careful to avoid touching anywhere the lyrium-lined skin was exposed. “Don’t let it get to you. We’ve all got things we’d give a leg for. Besides, it’s that Fade shit, I’m telling you. Dodgy stuff.” Varric paused, and hummed a little laugh. “I don’t think Blondie’ll be giving you a rest about it for a while, though. Might want to prepare yourself.” Fenris almost managed a snort, and nodded.

-

A precautionary knock came at the door of the clinic before it opened. Fenris strode in, hunched as always, and Anders worried for a moment that he was about to be attacked. The elf walked to about halfway between the door and Anders where he was washing a cleansing aura over a child with chokedamp, and stopped very abruptly.

“Anders. I… have been thinking about what happened in the Fade. That a demon could prey on my fears so easily… disturbs me.”

Anders looked up, bewildered.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?” he joked. It came out perhaps a little colder than he intended, but he wasn’t in the best of moods and people were waiting for treatment. Fenris took a deep breath.

“I… believe I may have been too harsh in my judgements. I have never faced a demon before, but for all my claims of superiority it seems I was no better than a mage when put in such a situation.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “No better than a mage?”

Fenris looked at the floor. “Kaffas. That – that was not how I intended to say it. I simply… I-I am sorry. I- you have healing to do.”

The elf turned on his heel and stormed out the clinic without looking at him, fists clenched and head down. Anders sighed. It was a terrible attempt at an apology, but it was something. Besides, the reasonable part of him thought, it was hardly as though the man could’ve had much experience apologising. You don’t have to apologise much when you don’t have any friends. _Self-beration is common and expected of slaves, often for the slightest of misbehaviours. It is abhorrent._ Yes, Justice, play the devil’s advocate. I meant real apologies. For real mistakes. Not things forced out of you by threats.

Anders’ thoughts flickered to Kinloch hold. They’d never gotten an apology out of him, he thought, and never would. It was a satisfying thought. He only regretted that Fenris hadn’t had the means for the same.

He smiled, as he slowly lifted the aura from the child on the cot below him. Since when had he been so keen to defend Fenris? Perhaps things were changing after all.

-

The Wounded Coast. Again. Anders didn’t know how Hawke had the nerve to keep dragging herself here. Fenris was walking aside, right up by the edge of the path overlooking the sea, and Fenris fell into step beside him cheerfully.

“So, Fenris,” he began brightly. “You apologised to me yesterday. Are you feeling alright? Anything I can tend to? It’s all confidential, your secrets are safe with me.”

Fenris scoffed. “Do not be condescending. I am not above apologising when I am proved wrong.”

Anders hummed. “First I hear of it.”

“What did you say?!”

“Nothing!” 

Fenris growled and swiped at him with a clawed gauntlet, and Anders chortled as he ducked out of the way. “You’re being playful now. Something’s definitely wrong.”

“I’m not being playful. That was absolutely intended to kill you.”

“And he makes a joke! That’s it, three strikes, Fenris is dead and his corpse is possessed by a Decency spirit.”

Fenris scowled. “Do not joke about that, Anders.”

Anders chuckled but ceased the teasing. “Alright, alright. I do appreciate it, though. You might not actually be the terrible person I thought you were.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“This is the most tragic chirpsing I’ve ever had the displeasure of listening to,” Hawke groaned from up front.


End file.
